


Feminine (OiKen)

by coolballsamirite



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Kozume Kenma, Crossdressing, Edgeplay, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, Kozume Kenma is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Shameless Smut, Top Oikawa Tooru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28526391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolballsamirite/pseuds/coolballsamirite
Summary: Kenma has been experimenting with clothes for a while, but now he lives with his relatively new friend Oikawa Tooru. He usually waits until he leaves to dress up in all his classically 'feminine' clothes, but what happens when Tooru comes home early?
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	Feminine (OiKen)

**Author's Note:**

> pls help
> 
> also enjoy the rarepair and please don't come for me 😃 I am fragile

Kenma had moved into Oikawa's two-bedroom apartment at least 7 months ago. He'd given in after 3 months of living in a shitty, overpriced one-room slum of a house, almost a year of figuring out that Oikawa was extremely clingy (which was quite nice, actually), and what felt like a lifetime of him whining and griping about how he should just _'come live with me instead'._ Oikawa had been in the middle of a rant about the reasons why he should just pack his stuff up and move out, when Kenma had stopped dead, looked into his spark-filled brown eyes and uttered a dry confirmation of _'fine'._ The look on his face had been priceless.

He'd gathered his stuff up that day, slung it all in a small brown bag and joined Oikawa in a cab to his house. He didn't own very much to begin with; a couple pairs of shoes, some old t-shirts, a pair of black skinny jeans and a hoodie to swaddle himself in when there were too many people around. He hadn't really needed to bring the last folded letter that Kuroo had sent to him, but somehow it found it's way into the inside pocket of the raincoat he managed to snag out of his drawers right before he left.

_"Live wildly, Kenma Kozume."_

Kenma ran his fingers over the paper in his pocket now; a habit he'd picked up during the times that nerves got the better of him. The edges of the folded, yellowing note were worn down and smooth, shiny where his fingers had ridden over it countless times, corners dog-eared and scrappy, the fold of the paper off centre and lazy. He tried not to think about what that meant Kuroo was thinking when he slid it in under his door that morning, making a hasty escape on fast feet with what sounded like another person following closely behind.

"Live wildly," Kenma whispered blankly, pulling the paper out of the kangaroo pouch on the front of his powder blue hoodie. Oikawa had bought it for him for his birthday three months ago. He unfolded the sliver of discoloured scrap paper. A creased cross ran off centre through it, dissecting the words scrawled in messy black ink on the front. He read them over once, twice, three times, just to make sure they wouldn't change.

Kenma scanned the paper again, roving his eyes over the words, the messy handwriting, the rushed folding, the torn edges that had been smoothed from his own fingers, the hasty signing of Kuroo's name at the bottom, fading thanks to his nervous habit. Rushed. Careless.

He hadn't realised that tears were slowly welling into his eyes until a steady stream dripped onto the fabric of his joggers; another gift from Oikawa. Just the right shade of grey that he liked, the shade that he picked out for himself when Oikawa had also taken him birthday shopping in case he didn't like any of the presents that he'd bought for him. Kenma almost doubled over onto himself, bringing his knees up to his chest with the tiny scrap of paper crushed in his palm. He faced the wall opposite the foot of his bed, heavy tears falling from hazelnut eyes. No sound left his trembling lips or dry throat, not a sob or a whimper or a cry of outrage, of pain. Of anything.

 _Kuroo_ used to buy him things. Little trinkets made of colourful stones, red and black figurines that he thought looked like their volleyball uniform. Meaningless things that costed too much money. No thought put into the tiny smiling faces of some off-brand studio ghibli pencil set, the brown totoro face grinning with an eerie look in his eyes. He buried his forehead on his knees, his eyes trying to squeeze shut as tears carried on flowing down porcelain cheeks. Kuroo would've wiped away his tears, tried to make it better with his big hands and strong legs. He wouldn't have been able to make it better, though. He never could. Kuroo couldn't deal with Kenma crying, always tried to distract him from it one way or another; with sex or something similar. Not once had Kuroo tried to speak to him about his lingering sadness. It had been good, then, he supposed, that he'd never really wanted to talk.

But now he did.

He'd wanted to talk for a long, long time. Kuroo and his relationship had started crumbling the minute he realised it. He'd refused to have sex with him whenever he was upset, and Kuroo had started leaving more often; usually with no warning. Just notes on the kitchen counter of their shared apartment, voicemails left behind on the landline in the living room, a simple _'be back later'_ before he left through the door.

A second set of footsteps had followed when Kuroo had left him the note he now clutched in his clenched fists; they haunted him. There had been another person. Kenma hadn't been enough. He was never enough, was he? Not for the volleyball team, not for his friends, not for his family, _not for_ _Kuroo._ A choked sob breached his lips, his fingers burying themselves deep in soft grey sweatpants, fingernails scrambling for purchase on the smooth material. The pants were just how he liked them; baggy around his legs, no elastic at his ankles, a drawstring waist, massive pockets... they were even the brand that he'd bought his last pair of joggers from, the second day after moving in with Oikawa. Despite the pain in his heart, the aching in his head from the crying, the way his jaw ached from clenching his teeth, Kenma smiled. Just a little.

He was enough for Oikawa, even if he didn't notice how Kenma craved more than what he could possibly give, more than just friendly smiles and platonic cuddles on the couch when they were both stoned and wanted to watch a movie. Perhaps it was time to learn how to be enough for himself.

He stood up, tears drying on his face, hopped off the bed and towards the bathroom, and stared at himself in the mirror. His face was a little red, streaks of tears marring his pale skin, hair tousled and clothes rumpled. He wiped at his cheeks with the palms of his hands, deciding after a little while that a damp towel would do better. A note stared up at him from the side of the sink as he reached over to grab a small cyan flannel, Oikawa's smooth, deliberate handwriting looking up at him from the paper.

_'We're out of soap, I'll get some on my way back.'_

Right. Oikawa had told him yesterday that he was going to go out with a few friends for the afternoon today, knowing full well that Kenma didn't ever get out of bed before 12.30pm, if he were to be lucky. It was around 1pm right now, probably 1.15 if he'd spent as long crying as he thought he did. He sighed to himself, bringing the flannel under the stream of warm water from the tap, quietly cursing himself as his hands shook. The water was cold on the towel by the time he lifted it to his face, dabbing at the salty tracks of tears still gleaming on his cheeks. It was all washed off in a few seconds, dried with a separate towel in another minute or so.

Kenma walked back out into his bedroom, smoothing out his sheets until they lay flat, fixing the grey-ish walls with a glare as he spotted Kuroo's letter still on the bed. He picked it up without daring to look at it, and threw it in the trash can by his door. Kuroo was gone; he didn't need to dwell on the past.

He checked his phone quickly, the time reading 13:23PM with a little sunshine icon next to it. A quick look out of his window told him that Oikawa wasn't back yet, and he quickly scampered over to his wardrobe. He clasped a hand around the silver handle, the white doors already creaking before he'd even moved them, and pulled it open, eyes immediately drawn towards a purple box on the shelf above his hung clothes. He pulled it down swiftly, the plastic cool in his hands as he flicked the lid open.

Fabrics of all colours shone within the small space that the box provided, pinks and blues and yellows of all shades and saturation. All of the items of clothing in his purple box were from the women's section of the stores he frequented; skirts and stockings and crop tops that he only ever dared to pay attention to when Oikawa was firmly and certainly out of the house.

Kenma rifled through them, pulling out a deep, blood red skirt, complete with wide pleats and a single stripe of black near the lower edge. He fingered through the other garments, finally settling on a black crop top that fell just above his navel, a lace trim lining the bottom hem and sleeves. Kenma knew the shirt rested just right over his thin shoulders and elegant neckline.

Next was a pair of close-knit fishnet tights and matching under shirt, a black leather choker with a massive silver ring on the front, and a set of red earrings in the shape of an ace of hearts. They matched the skirt perfectly. He laid the clothes out on the bed, frowning at the soft pleats of the red skirt, before pulling out a black chain that would hang just right through the belt loops at the top of it. He slung the box back in his wardrobe, crouching down to grab a pair of 4-ish inch, black-heeled boots. 5'10 wasn't a bad height, if he did say so himself.

The doors of the wardrobe fell shut with a soft ' _thud',_ and Kenma finally got to putting on his lovely little outfit.

He realised about halfway through changing that fishnets make everything seem colder. Just the air against his skin made him shiver, and the sheets he sat on seemed frigid and icy. He'd either somehow found a way to magically turn the heating down from all the way in his bedroom (the controls were in the living room, which made his theory instantly redundant), or it was his choice of clothing playing tricks on his brain. He brushed past it, though, and pulled on his crop top, fastened the choker around his neck and slipped the earrings on. He slid off the bed, wriggling his small feet into the heels on his way down, and ventured out of his room towards the master bathroom.

The door hissed open with a _'click',_ immediately meeting Kenma head-on with a floor length mirror opposite him. In all honesty, he thought he looked damn sexy. What a shame that Kuroo had left him. What a shame, indeed.

Kenma took a step closer to the mirror, turning to the side and hoisting his skirt up a little. The edge of his boxers peeked through from the bottom of the skirt, and he frowned. That wasn't fitting at all. He rose a finger up to his own reflection as if telling himself to _wait here,_ before rushing back to his room.

It took two seconds to get the purple box down again, and then he was ripping down the fishnets and boxers, refusing to even acknowledge what he was doing before he pulled on a set of black-and-red lace panties. He edged the fishnets up again, hitching the skirt further up his waist, and didn't even bother to put the box away again before strutting into the bathroom for a second time.

The mirror must've been betraying him. It was damn impossible to look this good. Kenma realised for the first time in a long, long while, that he was beautiful. Kuroo had made him feel good, yes, had made him feel what was damn near _ecstasy_ , but he'd never made him feel _beautiful_ _._ But now, as he stared at himself in the mirror, fingertips tracing over the hems and exposed stitches of his clothes, he finally allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, he was good enough. For himself. Perhaps not just because of the sexy clothes he was wearing, or the way he looked, either. Maybe... maybe he deserved to feel beautiful like this a lot more of the time. Even if he wasn't wearing a skimpy outfit.

He blew himself a kiss in his reflection, winking at his own face and laughing softly at his own over-confidence. A hair tie caught his attention on the sink to the left of him, elastic covered in black thread catching the light. He bit his lip and reached out towards it, realising after a second that there were two on top of each other. He met his own eyes in the mirror, as if asking himself if it was really okay, before deciding that, _fuck it,_ if he was gonna go all out, he was gonna go _all out._

Kenma loosed a breath through his mouth, grabbed both hair ties and wasted no time in sectioning his hair into parts. Most of his hair remained down, the two other sections becoming small pigtails atop either side of his head. He tied the first in place with ease, the tiny little pigtail in just the right place, but the second was a little harder. He tied it up, but it always seemed too far forward or too far to the side; until he finally - _finally -_ got it just right. With both pigtails even and his spirits still high, Kenma walked himself towards the kitchen in need of a drink, and, yeah, maybe he'd swayed his hips just a little too much to be considered totally normal, and maybe he'd flicked his hair over a shoulder like some sort of girl from a teen rom-com, but this was his moment. His hour.

He sat demurely on the counter, his back arched just slightly so his ass stuck out a little, hands on his criss-crossed knees as he leaned forward a tad, as if he were about to start talking in some sort of seductive, drunken drawl towards a high school jock. He felt a bit too much like an overly confident teenager - but he was 21 now. A grimace crossed his face at the thought that that might've made him a _man._

Kenma swung one leg in front of him, flexing his foot forwards and backwards, admiring the sleek black heels. It occurred to him quite soon after he'd started sitting like some sort of high schooler at a party, that if he did, in fact, want to get a drink, he'd need to actually get off the counter to grab one. He grumbled something about life being annoying before hopping down and snagging a glass from the cupboard, filling it in the sink opposite where he was sitting.

He settled for resting against the counter, legs crossed over one another, one elbow leaning on the countertop with his cup in his other hand, raising it to his slightly parted lips to take a sip. The water was cool down his throat, sweet as it eased some of the hoarseness to his voice from when he'd been crying, and soothing away any remnants of soreness. He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes. Today was a good day.

For one reason or another, Kenma decided that the kitchen wasn't the best place to feel confident in, with its closed-in walls and cramped ceiling. He practically sashayed into the living room, sweeping onto the dark, faux-leather armchair Oikawa had bought as a welcome gift for him, and draping his legs over the edge of the arm rest. It took him a moment to realise that he wasn't exactly thirsty anymore, but the table was so far away, and could he really be bothered to move to put it down? The answer was no. No he couldn't.

A noise sounded from outside the door, one that sounded awfully like a car pulling up to the driveway. It couldn't be Oikawa; he said he was out for the whole afternoon. It was only, what, 2pm? He still had time, surely. Oikawa wouldn't be back so soon... would he? Kenma shrugged to himself, rolling his eyes a little. He was thinking too much; Oikawa wouldn't be back for another hour yet. He was fine.

"Kennnma~Chaaan, I'm hooome~"

He was not fine.

Oikawa was practically singing his words as he shoved the key into the lock, twisting it far too quickly and opening the door far too soon. Kenma was paralyzed in what could've been fear; he'd been feeling so confident, so _sexy,_ and Oikawa would surely take one look at him and tell him he was disgusting. He almost vomited right then - he didn't think he could handle hearing such a horrible thing from Oikawa. But what could he do now other than wait like a sitting duck?

"Kenma~Chan?" Oikawa piped from the kitchen where Kenma supposed he was looking. Without even really realising it, he had balled himself up on the armchair (which was facing away from the door), and barely managed to stop his water from spilling all over himself, just a tad bit preoccupied with trying not to get thrown out of the house just yet. He'd successfully hidden himself for now, until the fateful moment where Oikawa would surely realise he was there, and tell him to leave immediately. He buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. This wasn't happening. Oikawa couldn't really be here - he was so _sure_ he still had time.

"There you a- oh my god," Oikawa stood in front of him, his shadow covering Kenma's tiny body. Kenma could feel his stare on him, could practically taste the judgement dribbling from him. He was trembling without even really registering it, tears already welling in his eyes, hands shaking as he tried to steady his glass. This wasn't happening. This wasn't fucking _happening_ _._ He vaguely registered Oikawa talking from in front of him, hands definitely flailing, probably telling him to get the fuck out of his house. He couldn't hear, though, couldn't breathe, couldn't _think._ This was horrible. This was hell itself; pain itself.

"Hey- Hey, are you listening?" Oikawa asked, leaning in towards him. Kenma curled further in on himself, feet tense in his boots. He couldn't handle this. He couldn't handle this. He couldn't _fucking handle this._ This was torture; this was horrible, disgusting, horrific torture and Oikawa was going to _kick him out of the house_ , curse him for being so utterly _wrong_ , and never speak to him again. All that reliance he'd built up on him; all the fondness he hadn't let himself feel; it would all be for nothing. He was going to have to leave. Oikawa wouldn't want him here.

 _"Kenma~Chan,"_ Oikawa's hands were on his shoulders, shaking him a little, thumbs rubbing circles on the junction of his neck. His hands were so big, so rough, and yet somehow gentle; kind. Caring. Kuroo's had never been like that- his calluses were always scraping over his fragile body, hands gripping just a bit too tight in all the wrong places. Oikawa held him gently, now, and- when had he been picked up?

"Hey, Kenma," Oikawa murmured, finally brushing the hair out of Kenma's face. He sat them both down, Kenma sideways on top of his lap with his eyes glued to his heel-clad feet, "It's okay, really. You're overthinking, that's all. It's alright."

Kenma shook his head, one fist clenched low in his own lap, the other holding his glass so tight he thought it might break soon. He tried not to move too much, like he might be able to disappear if he were to be still for long enough. Oikawa's hand - _so big -_ wrapped around his own, carefully taking his glass away and setting it on the table. He tried not to lurch away from the gentle contact, almost afraid of such a friendly touch since... well, since Kuroo.

Fingers tangled in his hair (the parts that weren't tied into pigtails), manicured nails lightly scratching at his head, knuckles brushing at the top of his neck, soothing and calm. He almost jumped away from it; demanded that Oikawa keep his hands away, but it just felt so _nice_ _._ He found himself thinking about how it would feel to have Oikawa washing his hair, untangling it after a long day or running his fingers through it as they watched TV, tucking his hair behind his ears before they went to sleep and... and that was thinking too far ahead. He didn't even know what this meant to Oikawa, yet.

"Please, Kenma~Chan," Oikawa said in a close-to-whispering voice, "look at me."

Kenma just squeezed his eyes tighter shut, legs drawn to his chest, one hand pinning his skirt up so Oikawa didn't see what he was wearing underneath. He tried to keep his heels off of Oikawa's leg, preferring not to stab the man with stilettos when he felt like he was walking on the edge of a razor blade with him.

"Kenma, I'm not going to kick you out," Oikawa tried, his other hand moving to ease Kenma's shoes off, revealing ankle socks and ivory skin under the fishnets he was wearing. He set the shoes on the floor.

"Okay," Kenma breathed, hands still tightly fisted, but at least his eyes were open now. He was scared; so, so scared that Oikawa was lying. That he was joking with him and was about to pick him up and - quite literally - throw him out the door.

"I mean it, Kenma~Chan," he said, the hand that had been taking his shoes off now resting on his knee. Warm.

"Okay," He repeated, a little louder, a little stronger. Oikawa wouldn't kick him out; he supposed he'd been a little stupid to think he would (Oikawa was weird, anyway- why would he care?), and now he was on his lap, dressed up like an angsty teenage girl, and really not playing the part of such a thing. He finally looked up, focusing on staring at the neckline of Oikawa's t-shirt, "alright."

Silence passed between both of them for a moment, settling over them like a blanket of crisp snow. Kenma made to slide off of Oikawa's lap, but he was stopped by a pair of strong hands on his fishnet-covered midriff.

"Mind if I make a few comments on the outfit?" Oikawa hummed, and something about the way his thumbs were now tracing absent circles on his hips let Kenma know that any 'comments' Oikawa were to make would be good ones, at least.

"Go ahead," He mumbled, fingers fumbling with one another.

"You look so damn _sexy_ in those clothes, Kenma," Oikawa murmured, his fingers playing with the lace at the bottom of his crop top, right under the top of his chest, warm fingers barely brushing the skin, "so fucking beautiful."

Kenma had _not_ been expecting that. He'd maybe been expecting a quiet 'looks good' or maybe even 'red suits you', something along those lines, but Oikawa had said... had said he looked _sexy._ Even the way the words rolled off of Oikawa's tongue made Kenma's heart flutter, his eyes fall closed again. There was no hiding from him, what with being sat on his thighs and all, and nothing to cover his lap with as he became more... _'uncomfortable'_ , per se, in the skirt.

"M-more, please," Kenma stammered, his fingers latching onto Oikawa's black, long sleeved shirt, begging for anything to keep him tied down to this reality. He had barely registered he'd even _wanted_ to ask for more when his mouth had betrayed him, spilling out the words before he could think twice. Even the faintest praise from Oikawa had Kenma melting in his arms.

"More, huh?" Oikawa hummed, "want me to tell you how fucking stunning you look, cutie?"

Kenma nodded, squeezing his hands over Oikawa's arms, the fabric of his shirt too tight to really grab on to, fingernails slipping over silken cloth.

"You look so pretty like this, Kenma~Chan," Oikawa purred, "so damn cute, clawing at my shirt like that," he dragged a hand down Kenma's side, fingertips playing with his exposed skin, "even your body is perfect. So beautiful- I can't believe I got so lucky today."

Kenma's face - dusted pink on his cheekbones - pressed into Oikawa's shoulder, legs crossed one over the other with his free hand trying to keep his skirt up, as if he could hide what this was doing to him, toes curling on Oikawa's thigh.

"Thank you," He said dumbly, the sound muffled through Oikawa's shoulder.

"I should be thanking you for looking so damn gorgeous," Oikawa drawled, his hand skirting up towards the hem of Kenma's crop top, fiddling with the loops of his fishnet shirt just beneath the silky black fabric, sending Kenma's face ablaze, "I've had a really hard day today, y'know?"

Kenma looked upwards, all big, glazed eyes and parted lips, silken hair falling into his face. He met Oikawa with a questioning look, head tilted just slightly to the side, his face muted to a hazy shade of rosy pink.

"Some of the guys were acting really shitty," He muttered, tucking loose sunflower strands of hair behind Kenma's ears, "It might sound a little creepy, but coming home to you always makes my day better," he said sheepishly, "and seeing you like this, well,"

Kenma's face heated as Oikawa dragged a hand up his chest, deft fingers gliding over his nipples, electrifying his skin before he raised it to his jaw, lifting his head so that his breath fanned over his lips; smelling of mint and faintly like the sandwiches he'd packed for him the day before.

"I feel a whole lot better now," Oikawa said with a lazy grin, his usual self-indulgent drawl returning full swing. Kenma looked away again, burying his face in Oikawa's chest, fists clenched on each of his shoulders.

"I didn't do it for you," Kenma mumbled, "but I'm glad you like it."

"I know you didn't," Oikawa hummed, gripping Kenma's hips and turning him so that his legs were either side of his own, straddling his waist, "I'm just happy I had to come home early. I'd never wanna miss _this_ ," Oikawa brushed a hand down his spine in emphasis, Kenma's back arching ever so slightly.

The new position really didn't hide anything that Kenma was feeling right then, the clothes he'd chosen doing absolutely nothing to help. He raised himself a little off of Oikawa's lap as if that would help to distract from the slight tent at the front of his skirt, coughing awkwardly as he buried his face in Oikawa's neck to hide his flushed face.

"Can I go change now?" He lifted his head again - though he remained careful not to make eye contact -, voice and face once again blank, trying to fight off the strain that threatened to seep into his words. He could feel Oikawa's calculating eyes landing on him, scanning his body language, how his shoulders were hunched, breathing heavy, legs clenching and unclenching as he lifted himself away from his lap just slightly.

"Before you do..." Oikawa paused to lean in close to Kenma's ear, his breath warm on his skin, voice low and sensual, "can I touch you?"

He _really_ hadn't been expecting that. Sure, the hand tangled in his hair felt really fucking good, and perhaps those compliments drove him buck wild, and, yeah, maybe Oikawa's palms were warm and soothing and soft and _god,_ he just wanted to feel them every-fucking-where, but... but what? Oikawa was the one offering, here. Surely, if he said yes, any repercussions would be entirely Oikawa's fault. What was the harm, anyway?

He wouldn't give in that easily, though. If Oikawa was going to make him go mad with his seductive words and rumbling praises, then Kenma wasn't going to make any of this easy for him.

"Where do you want to touch me?" He looked up at Oikawa again, lashes lowered over his eyes, his chin resting on the centre of his broad chest. A blank look fell over his features. Quiet. Innocent. Oikawa searched Kenma's eyes, a crooked smirk settling on his rosy lips.

"Everywhere, cutie~" He purred, his hand trailing down Kenma's back and stopping just at the waistband of his skirt, "if you'll let me."

Kenma found himself sitting further down onto Oikawa's lap, done with trying to disguise how he was making him feel, how his cock stirred at the way Oikawa talked to him. He dared to shuffle forwards a bit, hips flush against the bottom of Oikawa's stomach, hissing quietly as his arousal brushed against his body, thighs wrapping around lean muscle.

"That a yes?" He hummed, and Kenma could feel how rigid and taut he was keeping his body, reigning in and restraining himself, hands frozen on his waist. He couldn't help the wicked little smile that passed over his lips as he realised that it was all _his_ doing; that only _he_ could make Oikawa freeze like this, full of restraint as he held himself back, and only _he_ could break his thin tether of self control. He had him on a tight leash leash, and damn him if he wasn't going to pull it.

"Mm... Don't know yet," Kenma murmured, rolling his hips forward once. Experimental. He glanced up at Oikawa, questioning if this was okay with a quiet look, and - thanks to whatever higher beings were listening - he gave a small nod. Barely a moment of hesitation passed between them before he was rolling his hips again, slinging his arms over Oikawa's shoulders. He didn't fail to notice how - even when he was sitting on the man's lap - he had to reach up to be able to wrap his arms around his neck.

"Can _I_ touch _you_?" He countered Oikawa's question with the same one, receiving an almost immediate nod. He dropped his head down so it rested next to his own arm, slotting perfectly into the crook of Oikawa's neck, his tongue darting out to lap at the skin.

"Fuck, that's hot," Oikawa whispered, his hands slamming down onto the sides of the chair, knuckles white with how hard he was gripping the armrests. Wood groaned with the force of Oikawa's fingers wrapping around it, sounding damn near breaking. Kenma loosed a hand from around his neck, his mouth now sucking a muted mark onto pale flesh, and set it on top of one of Oikawa's.

"Hold my hand," Kenma practically whispered, "please."

Warm fingers laced through his own, larger and more sturdy, manicured nails pressing lightly against his slightly-paler skin. He glanced at their locked hands, almost letting a tiny moan slip at just the thought of Oikawa not minding any of this. He managed to suck another mark onto his neck, mindlessly bucking his hips forwards as he drew low groans from Oikawa's throat, coaxing out deliciously deep noises that would otherwise remain buried in his chest. He loved it- loved making Oikawa feel good like that.

Movement flickered from the corner of his eye, Oikawa's fingers curling into fists on the other armrest, his knuckles pale with the amound of strain on them. Kenma had no doubt that his fingernails were digging crescents into those huge, warm palms of his. He couldn't help but pick up the pace a little; the hand holding his own was heartbreakingly gentle, the other gripping dangerously tightly onto thin air, and it made Kenma melt. Kuroo would've crushed his wrist by now, in fact, fuck that, Kuroo would already be inside him; he never showed any sign of restraint. It made him want to chase his orgasm faster, want to feel more and more of Oikawa's body, erase those thoughts from his head and replace them with _Oikawa, Oikawa, Oikawa_ , until it was the only thing he could think.

"Oikawa~San- I-" Kenma could barely grind his words out, sweet friction meeting wherever he spun his hips, only the thin layers of his and Oikawa's clothing separating him from what he craved. What he knew laid beneath the black shirt Oikawa was wearing.

"I've got you, cutie," Oikawa's chest rumbled against him, a moan leaving Kenma's parted lips at his words. Oikawa was proving to be better at restraining himself than any handcuffs or lengths of rope could ever be, all because Kenma hadn't given him the go ahead yet. The thought alone made him move his hips faster, teeth scraping against his neck as he let another moan slip, burying his nose in Oikawa's scent.

"Please, _please-_ " Kenma whined, somehow resorting to begging despite Oikawa keeping his hands off him, not even touching him. He should be in control right now, should be pulling that metaphorical leash, and yet he couldn't. He'd never tell Oikawa that. His ego was big enough already.

Kenma desperately tried to grip onto something, his fingers finding purchase on Oikawa's shoulderblades, nails scraping against his tight shirt. He was going to fall apart at the seams, and Oikawa hadn't even touched him yet, had barely laid a finger on him. He was almost jealous of the wood groaning beneath Oikawa's fist.

"Please," He whimpered again, breathing ragged and fast and uneven. It was too hard to keep his head up, too hard to keep moving. Oikawa was making him feel all sorts of things that made even _breathing_ too hard to do.

"What do you want, baby?" Oikawa asked through a groan, "Use your words."

"Want you t-to- to touch me," Kenma gasped out, heedlessly grinding against Oikawa's stomach. A moment of blindness and dizzying speed washed over his senses, the world falling on its side, and then upside down, before finally settling so the ceiling was above him and the couch below. Oikawa had moved them again, rapidly tearing off Kenma's clothing, starting from his fishnets and skirt. Kenma panted through his mouth, chest heaving as Oikawa hooked his fingers through the black chain on his waist, tugging on his skirt and he realised that, fuck, he had fucking _panties_ on right now-

"Wait, _wait!_ " He barked, but it was already too late. The skirt lay discarded on the floor, a pathetic scrap of black and red lace becoming the only thing to cover his obvious arousal. A horrible, glaring crimson sank deep into his features, his slim hands not doing enough to hide it, "Don't look- don't look, _please_ _,_ " He whimpered, crossing his legs over each other to try and cover up, embarrassed and feeling a little humiliated.

"God _damn_ , Kenma," Oikawa remarked, tracing a finger over the bulge in his pants. Kenma whimpered, thighs clenching. "You look so pretty in those... So damn beautiful," Oikawa leaned down to press a kiss to each of Kenma's thighs, eyes flicked upwards the whole time, "don't hide yourself, don't- you look cute, Kenma~Chan."

"T-Tooru~San," Kenma uttered, breathless and red. Oikawa's eyes turned a shade darker, his tongue darting out over his lips.

"Can I take them off?" He asked in a purr, tearing them away from Kenma's legs as soon as he nodded, red and black lace thrown away to join the increasing pile of discarded clothes.

Every part of Kenma's body wanted to dart his hands down, wanted to cover himself up because this was _Oikawa_ , no less, and it was downright _weird_ to be doing stuff like this with him. It shouldn't be happening, _couldn't_ be happening, and yet... it was. It was happening, and Oikawa didn't seem to care, no; in fact, it seemed like the opposite. The look on his face was full of love - albeit a little obnoxious, but that was Oikawa for you -, and he looked like he wanted to treasure every moment as much as Kenma did. His heart squeezed at the thought and he wrapped his arms around Oikawa's neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer until he could lean up to kiss him, soft lips smashing together with no sign of an afterthought. It didn't matter that Oikawa's lips definitely needed chapstick, or that this was Kenma's first kiss since Kuroo, or that it was messy, and noisy, and had too much slurping and their tongues were awkwardly trying to get in each other's mouths; because it was perfect. It was perfect and wonderful and all that Kenma wanted.

Neither of them pulled apart; not yet. Both slowly losing breath but never losing patience, eyes fluttering closed as their lips tangled, danced, swayed. Untroubled and unbound by whatever the world had thrown at them that day. A kiss so fierce that Kenma was sure his knees would be buckling if he were standing up.

" _Tooru_ ," Kenma breathed into Oikawa's mouth, groaning as a hand sank down towards his hips, caressing the smooth skin there. Oikawa's name was a chant, a plea, a _prayer_ from Kenma's lips, never enough to satisfy the fire building in him, the flames licking through his veins, burning under his skin. He needed more than just his name, more than just a word to breathe into electrified air.

Kenma grappled for Oikawa's shirt, fingernails scraping against the smooth surface of the tight material. He finally got it off, the black fabric clinging to Oikawa like a second skin, and ran his hands over the dips and cracks of his muscles, fingertips grazing over chiseled skin and hard planes. He leaned up to kiss him again, hands pausing on his chest, balled into fists.

"Kozume~Chan..." Oikawa breathed, his voice a little hoarse from all the kissing, gravelly and deep and intoxicating. Kenma let a tiny moan slip at just the mention of his name on Oikawa's tongue, rolling off it like velvet and silk. Sweet as honey and rich as brownies and Kenma could barely handle it.

Oikawa quickly snatched something up from the floor that looked an awful lot like his fishnet tights, before he turned his head towards Kenma again. How could he even reach the floor while he was on top of him?

"Mind if I tie your hands?" He asked, voice husky and deep. Kenma swallowed thickly, fingers flexing on Oikawa's shoulders.

"O-Okay," He whispered, "but... not too tight, please."

Oikawa nodded, flipping Kenma over quickly, one hand planted on the centre of his back and pushing down slightly. Kenma couldn't keep back the loud moan that tore from his chest, eyes squeezed shut while Oikawa gathered both of his slender wrists and tied them with his own fucking tights. That was way hotter than it should've been.

"Too tight?" He asked lowly, securing the knot on his wrists. Kenma shook his head, testing the restraints a little. "Good."

Oikawa flipped him over again with barely a flick of his wrists on his hips, crawling over him and leaning his lower body weight onto his legs, elbows propping himself up from his chest. He brushed a hand over Kenma's cheek, kissing him quickly. Kenma leaned up into it, chasing his lips when he pulled away, a desperate look in his syrupy eyes.

"Let me touch you," Oikawa murmured, breathing rough and ragged. Kenma could do nothing but nod, no words finding themselves in his head or his throat, only a mute dip of his head. Oikawa's hand moved from his hip, skimming over the jutted-out bone as he slid his palm over the flushed tip of his cock. Kenma groaned, bucking his hips upwards as Oikawa kept his palm flat, refusing to wrap his skillful fingers around him.

"Please," Kenma breathed, a whine catching in his throat halfway through. Oikawa grinned wickedly at him, capturing his lips in a ferocious kiss again, messy and sloppy as he raised his palm, making Kenma chase it with his hips. His feet scrambled on the couch, propping himself up as Oikawa kept moving his palm away until his back was arched and Oikawa had to stand to the side to reach high enough. It was almost impressive the limits that Kenma reached just to chase down his own orgasm.

" _Please, Tooru_ ," Kenma whimpered, tears welling at the corners of his eyes. He needed more; _craved_ more. Only the tip of his cock brushed Oikawa's palm, barely any contact and yet it was so _much._ Kenma just wanted that sweet, sweet release that Oikawa was dangling in front of him, the feeling of ecstasy so close, so fucking _close,_ and he couldn't fucking have it. "Please, _I need it._ "

Oikawa huffed a quiet laugh, his other hand coaxing the hair ties out of Kenma's pigtails, playing with his slightly wavy locks.

"Cum like this, Kozume," He said simply, a lilt of a laugh coating his purring voice, "then you can have your reward."

"I- I can't-" Kenma moaned, raising himself onto his tiptoes to try and get more friction, a frustrated groan slipping through parted lips as Oikawa moved his hand away again. He desperately tried to grind against his palm, warmth spreading through him and forming a knot in his stomach; ever present and almost taunting. He was on the edge, about to fall, but he couldn't; Oikawa's hand was too far.

"You're doing so good already, Kozume~Chan," Oikawa cooed, leaning over him so his breath fanned over his cock, drawing a low moan from Kenma, "just a little more, okay? You can do it, I know you can."

Kenma released a breathy whine, his head full of butterflies and his stomach dropping out at the encouragement Oikawa was giving him, but he was so fucking _frustrated_ at the same fucking time, and it all made his head spin and his legs shake and _fuck,_ Oikawa was fucking laughing-

"Just- Just let me cum-" Kenma ground out, breathing heavy and ragged, his eyes watering again, " _please._ "

"Like this?" Oikawa pressed his hand down, fingers finally, _finally_ wrapping around his cock, pumping rougher than he'd been expecting, a broken mewl breaking from him. Kenma yelled out in pleasure, eyes rolling backwards into his head as the first licks of delicious release buckled through him, and then Oikawa was slowing down, slowing down until his hand stopped, fingers unfurling again.

"No, no- nononono, _please, Tooru_ ," Kenma sobbed, trying to reach Oikawa's flattened palm again, a broken moan barely making it past his lips as he found his warm hand closer than before. Oikawa chuckled from above him, his hand pressing further down again, edging him on. He bucked his hips against it, pushing and pushing his body to the limit, arched and aching and stretched as far as he could go, chasing down his orgasm until he was coming undone, a pathetic mess of moans and cries of pleasure as he came and came. His legs shook, toes curled and eyes fluttered shut, and it was all too much, _way too much,_ for him to handle.

"That's it, baby," Oikawa soothed, "just like that, well done," He said, voice hushed and calming as he stroked Kenma's hair, "I didn't know you'd break so quickly... I felt a little bad."

Kenma's head swam with the afterglow, a string of slurred, indistinguishable words babbling from his mouth, peppered with whines and whimpers. Oikawa lowered his arched back for him, soothing his rigid muscles as he dragged his clean hand over pale skin, lifting his shirt up and over his head. Kenma only vaguely registered that he'd still had it on, lost in the feeling of Oikawa's hands guiding him through the aftermath of it all.

"You did so well, Kozume~Chan," Oikawa murmured as he pulled Kenma onto his lap and against his bare chest, kissing lazily at his neck, "So good for me, baby. You did so good."

Kenma let his head fall back against Oikawa's shoulder, still panting with his mouth open, his chest heaving. The haze of his afterglow had risen slightly, enough for him to know where he was; who he was with. Who had just turned him into a gasping fucking mess.

"T... Tooru..." He murmured, somehow managing to pull himself upwards and kiss at Oikawa's jaw, dumb happiness sluicing through him, "Mm'it felt so good..."

Oikawa laughed quietly, breath almost hitching as Kenma nibbled at his neck. He kissed Kenma's forehead, hands running down his sides and hips, smoothing out invisible creases in his skin.

"So... so much better... than Kuroo..." Kenma said sleepily, and Oikawa got the feeling that he didn't actually know what he was saying. A small part of him couldn't help but swell with pride, still. He sighed a little before it turned into a chuckle and he scooped the tiny setter up, gently _'shh'_ ing him as he cawed in surprise from being moved so quickly. He tried to make his way to Kenma's bedroom to let him sleep, but Kenma was giggling in his arms, fingers grappling for the belt loops of his pants, feebly tugging at them.

"Not now, Kenma. You need to sleep," Oikawa shushed him, laying him down on his bed and tucking him under the covers. He dashed into the bathroom to wash his hand off, silently hoping he hadn't gotten anything nasty on Kenma and therefore the sheets, and quickly hopped back to Kenma's room. The poor thing was already asleep, murmuring incomprehensible, dreary sentences that featured Oikawa's name a hell of a lot. He smiled faintly, climbing into the bed to tug him against his chest, nose buried in his hair. He barely stirred.

Oikawa breathed a sigh of relief to himself, knowing that Kenma was safe in his arms, and that, maybe, _just maybe_ , he'd want to do something like this again.


End file.
